Need You for Always (Heroes of St. Helena)(62)

Harper waved a dismissive hand. “That was sex. This,” she whispered, leaning closer as though imparting the meaning of life. “This is different. He’s different.”

He was different, and so was Emerson. She could feel it and she feared that people could see it, so she strategically avoided her friend’s glare, instead paying particular attention to the arrangement of mouthwatering mini cupcakes she’d prepared—which were spongy and light with a rich liqueur frosting—to detract from the fact she was grinning. Like an idiot.

“We’re friends,” she said, knowing it was true. Only half the truth, but true all the same.

“Yeah, hot, vertical sex and hugging with a supersexy guy. Totally friend zone. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Exactly what Emerson had concluded the other day at Stan’s—she was in deep. It didn’t matter when he left, she’d feel the loss, because when she was with Dax everything in her world tilted right. And when she wasn’t with him all she could think about was what it felt like being with him.

Dax was funny and easy to be around and so incredibly kind to her family. And he’d called her sweet. No one had called her that before, but when he said it she felt sweet. Like she could be the kind of woman who got the great guy.

“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted.

“Are you kidding me?” Harper laughed. “Hearing about that night was hotter than my last nine dates combined. My entire dating history combined.” Harper released a breath and took in Emerson’s expression. She wasn’t sure what she looked like, but it must have been bad, because suddenly Harper went superserious. “It’s more than sex, Em, he’s crazy about you.”

“How would you know? The man cut out of town the day he could enlist, then was MIA for the past fifteen years.”

“Because I pay attention,” Harper said with a laugh. “And if you would, you’d see that the man is as allergic to human interaction as you are, yet he hires you to cook for him. In his house, thank you. Helps your sister’s Lady Bug troop, finds your dad a job, and just happens to jog past your cart twice a day and pretend he isn’t checking up on you.”

“He’s checking me out,” Emerson corrected.

“No, he’s checking up on you. There’s a difference.”

There was. Emerson knew. It was the same reason she’d agreed to pick him up from PT every week. To make sure he was feeling better. “I coerced him into helping with the Lady Bugs.”

Harper rolled her eyes. “The only way a man like Dax could ever be coerced was if he allowed himself to be. Look at the guy, he’s built like the Hulk.” Emerson always thought more Captain America, but whatever. “He agreed to help because he wanted to help you, Em. And that’s as real as it gets.”

It was that real side of Dax that made Emerson so nervous. It wasn’t just that he helped her dad for no reason, or that he hugged her when she needed it most. It was how he made her feel when he did those things. As if she meant something to him.

Something that went beyond one night. Something that might be worth hanging around for. He’d met her family, seen her crazy life, and yet he was still there. Not for always, but for now. And that should be enough.

But what if it wasn’t?

“I mailed the letter Wednesday,” Emerson admitted.

“I know. And I’m really proud of you.” Harper leaned over and patted her hand like she’d just received a gold star for effort.

“What do you mean, you know?” She hadn’t told anyone except Dax. And he only knew because he’d caught her—then hugged her. And yeah, she’d hugged him back. But she hadn’t said a word since then, to him or anyone else, because if for some reason she didn’t get the truck, she didn’t want anyone to give her those Poor Emerson looks she hated so much.

“I peeked in your purse on accident.” Harper sat back. “Okay, it wasn’t an accident, I was going to mail it if it was still there Wednesday afternoon so you wouldn’t miss the deadline. Thanks for mailing it, though, it saved me from infringing on your privacy.”

“You already infringed by going into my purse.”

Harper cocked her head, looking deep in thought and perplexed. With a nod she said, “I can see how it would look that way to you.” Emerson wanted to point out that it would look that way to anyone. “And if it bothers you that much, then I promise not to stick my nose in your business.”

“That’s like you saying you’re going to give up breathing.”

Harper lifted the lid off the dessert tray and snagged a Metaxa-and-orange cupcake. “I won’t do it again,” she promised and made a big show out of popping the cupcake in her mouth, her cheeks puffed.

Emerson reached for a cupcake too when the roar of a motorcycle barreled down Main Street. Both women froze, neither moving an inch. Then the engine revved closer and it sounded as though it was right below her balcony, and her good parts did a little revving of their own.

Harper’s eyes got big and she hopped up on her knees to look over the railing. She let loose one excited giggle, then calmly took her seat. Crossing her legs demurely.

“Is it him?” Emerson whispered, ignoring the fluttering and the flushing. And the bead of hope.

Harper pointed to her mouth, still full of cupcake, and shrugged.